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by stillmadaboutpetra



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, Humiliation, M/M, Omorashi, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Watersports, short sweet n to the point
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-15 11:23:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29807661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stillmadaboutpetra/pseuds/stillmadaboutpetra
Summary: A small accident marks the finale of a good night.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 6
Kudos: 54





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**Author's Note:**

  * For [KrisRix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KrisRix/gifts).



> here u go pisslords

It’s an accident. Isn’t that what it is: an accident? It’s the restaurant’s fault. It’s the mug of blood Baz drank before going out that made him feel invincible. It’s the high of a four course meal. It’s all the cucumber mint water and the vinho verde. The chocolate truffle and port and the cup of espresso. It’s everything. It’s Baz’s greed and not wanting to miss a moment of Simon’s enthused company. It’s a date gone very well. It’s an accident.

They’re grinding together the second they’re home. Jackets ripped off and abandoned. The wall knocked into until they greet the floor in a roll of happy bodies. They’re both _on_ tonight. Baz is beside himself, heel-clicking joyfully. The night is young and they are hard; there’s much to be done. Much to do. All the time in the world it seems. But Crowley, he’s worked up. He can hardly think straight. Half his arousal is the tight throb of urgency working through him. The need to go centers him, drives his hips. He likes it until he realizes what it is and then it zings through him, hotter than before; he’s blimping with the heat of himself. He bucks up hard and pulls Simon against him, more pressure that makes his belly go taught with restraint.

“Wait, I need-,”

Simon’s in his mouth with a groan, tongue out, delicious tongue; the kiss slides wetly along his cheek. “Yeah, baby?”

Damn his low voice. The uncouth grunt of him. They thrust together once, almost painful; Simon spreads his thighs apart, no care for the tightening seam of his control, his pants. No care for the dry cleaning to be done.

“I’ve got to piss.”

Simon holds his face in both hands, sucking his mouth. His hips roll faster; Baz rocks down into the unforgiving floor. He feels unbearably lewd and cheap; he loves it. “Just piss yourself.”

_“What.”_

Simon laughs and nips him. He pulls up just enough to make eye contact and presses a hand low on Baz’s belly, thumb finding the pocket of his bellybutton. “I’m not letting you up. Got you right where I want you.”

“You’re an animal.”

Simon barely gives himself time to shrug off the insult before he returns to devouring Baz, roughening his hands, tugging and then pushing, shoving clothes away in careless disregard. The urgency returns, the need to piss potent, blistering. It sits first behind his cock, then in his balls, and then in his mouth; a pulsing; the elastic of his bladder trembling up to his teeth.

“Simon,” he whines. He could throw him off. Easily. It wouldn’t even be a thought. But Simon’s so sweet and snug between his thighs, pulling them closer. The night sits full in Baz’s belly. The food, the drink, the desire.

“Hold it.”

“I’ve _been_ holding it.”

Simons’ mouth is wet at his ear, a hot lick, a cool tease of air blowing over the lobe. “That’s hot.”

The next thrust of their still clothed bodies hits like a kick; Baz is hard but he feels the pinch-pulse of piss out of his cock, hot and embarrassing. Simon grinds into him, behind his balls, the shape of his arousal a shallow gouge into Baz.

He dribbles, trembling, holding onto Simon and riding the trough and crest of their rutting. More piss sneaks free, growing forceful as his resistance wavers and cracks until he goes lax, moaning. He tries to close his legs around one of Simons’ thighs, ride his leg but Simon grips him tight and spreads him open, leaving him twitching and wetting his pants in a hiccupping rush. It pours out of him, sputtering and shocky through the tight stiffness of his erection.

He’s still rocking his hips after he’s empty, squirting little hot dribbles into the quickly chilling mess of himself. He sniffs hard, undone, on the edge of weeping and shocked by it.

“Seven snakes,” Simon gasps, drawing up a little. He looks down curiously between their bodies, eyes bulging at the dark stain in Basil’s nice slacks, the stain that’s spread to his own pants. His best pair of jeans, not a hole in sight. “You really did.”

“You said to,” Baz begins in a garbled voice; he’s full of blood; his face bloats with embarrassment. “You wouldn’t let me up.”

It’s a pitiful excuse. They both know Baz could have gotten up at any time. Simon’s steady look says as much.

“Yeah,” Simon agrees, dropping back down onto his palms on either side of Baz’s head. “That’s right. I made you do this. Made you piss in your fancy clothes.”

Baz nods, trembling, still hard but feeling the cold stickiness of urine abate some of his frantic need. It feels like he just came, so badly did he need to go; it feels like he could go again. He sucks in a breath and squirms, turned on and dazed; he doesn’t know what to do with his hands, his legs. He lays there, sprawled panting, while Simon inspects him with a critical and hungry eye; his flushed face, his rapid breathing; the bulge of his cock and shivery hips.

“You’re a mess,” Simon chides. He reaches for Baz’s fly and undoes it; his underwear feels soaked, like poolwater late at night against the hot blister of Simon’s hand on him. He falls free with a damp thump of flesh and then Simon’s pulling his own cock out and jerking himself off with a hard-lined expression. He looks cruel and satisfied above Baz, nostrils flaring as he looks him over and over and over, each pass of his eyes stripping him down more.

“Simon.” He doesn’t know what he wants until Simon’s kissing him. His knuckles rub and cuff into Baz’s cock; he could reach for himself, or Simon, but a strange paralysis keeps him still. He lays in the mess he’s made and waits for more.

“Finish me,” Simon grunts into a kiss, kissing his one eye closed and licking his eyebrow. Baz snaps to obedience, grabbing Simon’s cock like a lifeline and jerking him rapidly, roughly, vampirism twisting his hand to a blur. Simon’s come never felt hotter as it lands on his bared belly, on his still hard cock.

They rub his come in together, meditatively, breathing harshly in the aftermath of one orgasm between them. Then Simon does the unspeakable; he shimmies down and suck’s Baz’s soiled cock into his mouth, moaning grandly. His chin butts into the piss-soiled fabric of his pants, his nose must burn acrid. But he moans and slobbers and Baz cries and holds Simon’s mouth as close as he can until he comes and comes away clean inside him. 

Simon's mouth is damp and humid in his next kiss, peculiar and sour. It should repulse, but Baz's mouth puckers with saliva. The open catch of Simon's jeans clacks on the button of his slack. It's the only metallic and machined sound between them, everything else organic and mossy in the ear.

"I've gotta go now too," Simon confesses, still kissing him. Baz nods. "You're already-"

"Yeah-"

"Yeah?"

Baz holds his cock through it, feels the jerk and jettison of the organ; Simon's urine practically steams as it hits his skin. It drips and spreads. Simon deflates with the force until they're sitting in their entrance way, half-dressed, wobbly from orgasm, and filthy. The minute ticks by and the haze leaves them prickling into awareness.

Simon laughs first. He does it bullishly, snorting and gruff. "Fuck. Alright."

"Indeed," Baz murmurs, definitely in a puddle at that point.

"Yeah. Alright. Let's get you- well. Shit." They laugh together and glance warily at the doormat. It's safe. Nothing a little mop and bucket can't solve. A shower. A load of laundry.

"I can't believe you really did it," Simon murmurs, sat on Baz's lap yet, stunned and familiar; it's his shocked schoolboy expression, the one he would get after a particularly showy spell was cast. Even the most mundane and simple of functions surprise and amaze him. It's endearing. Baz thinks so at least.

"Let's cross it off the bucket list and move on."

"Sure. Sure." Simon nods once. "Whatever you want." They grimace as they abandon their shoes and stumble, hand-holding, to the shower to fight over the spray.


End file.
